


P is for Pie

by kuriadalmatia



Series: Alphabet Meme Series [21]
Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Alphabet Meme, Bullying, Child Abuse, Confessions, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-04
Updated: 2010-11-04
Packaged: 2017-12-04 06:32:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/707632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuriadalmatia/pseuds/kuriadalmatia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spencer knows what Aaron is doing: offering up a piece of himself—a very private piece of his childhood that never talks about—so that Spencer has the opportunity to reciprocate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	P is for Pie

**Author's Note:**

> There’s a reference to the “X is for Xylophone” entry posted earlier, but you don’t need to read that in order to enjoy this. 
> 
> Feedback always welcome.
> 
> DISCLAIMER: The Mark Gordon Company, ABC Studios and CBS Paramount Network Television own Criminal Minds. Salut! I just took them out to play and I promise put them back when I'm done. I'm not making any profit just trying to get these images out of my head.

///***///

It takes two years, six months and twenty-three days for Aaron to finally explain why he owned a marching band xylophone. It’s not a pleasant story, but it’s one that Spencer can relate to. Aaron played the percussion instrument to defy his father. Young Aaron Hotchner used the money he earned over the summer mowing lawns to pay for lessons and pawned a rare coin so he could buy the instrument. He did it all in secret.

Aaron ends the story oh-so-casually with, “Those mallets hurt more than you’d think.”

Spencer knows what Aaron is doing: offering up a piece of himself—a very _private_ piece of his childhood that never talks about—so that Spencer has the opportunity to reciprocate.

It’s not expected. It never is.

Spencer knows this and, really, he does try so hard to share himself. It’s usually him offering up a bad memory for Aaron, not vice versa. They never have to preface their stories with, “If I tell you, will you promise not to laugh?” because they never chortle or giggle or make light of the experiences. They listen to each other, weigh their responses, and then tread carefully until they feel comfortable with the issue.

It’s hard to explain what set Spencer off today, even if Aaron knows that he avoids certain brands of food. It falls in the same category as Aaron preferring not to drive Lincolns unless he has to. It’s that trigger, that memory that is almost paralyzing.

Spencer presses his palms flat on the red and white checkered tablecloth. They’re in a café that has as many drinkers as diners. It’s not an appropriate place to have a conversation like this. It really isn’t.

Still.

Spencer licks his lips. He stares at the fried oyster on his plate and wonders why the hell he even ordered the damn thing. Instead, Spencer picks up his paper napkin and does a simple sleight of hand trick. Aaron watches intently, as always.

“Fruit Pie, the Magician,” Spencer finally says. To anyone else, his voice sounds calm, almost whimsical. He knows what he sounds like to Aaron. “I was eight. Didn’t quite get the ‘fruit’ connotation until much, much later.”

Aaron’s brow creases and his left eye twitches. The young boy in Spencer who endured swirlies and being stuffed in a locker and taped to a goalpost still wants to hand over a list of his tormentors to Aaron just to see what will happen, to watch how badly Aaron will fuck them up. The adult in Spencer shakes that notion off.

Those people? Just aren’t worth it.

Spencer sets the napkin down and leans back in the booth. He doesn’t elaborate. He really doesn’t want to, and knows he really doesn’t have to. Aaron can pretty much imagine just what happened. Maybe in two years, six months and twenty-three days, Spencer will tell him the details.

Maybe.

Aaron reaches across the table and grasps his hand briefly, thumb caressing his knuckles before folding his hands in front of him.

“Hostess phased out using the mascot on their pies in 2006,” Spencer states as he pushes his plate away. There’s no way in hell he’s going to eat that oyster. No way.

“The profile indicates that our UnSub is a collector,” Aaron comments as he slides his own plate to the side.

The silence hangs between them, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s just them.

A moment.

A pause.

_Them._

“It won’t affect me,” Spencer tells him. It’s a needless statement, but one that he still has to say.

“I know,” Aaron replies softly. Again, it’s unnecessary, but it’s welcomed all the same. It’s one of the things that Spencer loves about Aaron the most.

He forces a little smile. “Then, let’s go.”

***///***


End file.
